As the fool was about to spring upon the horse, a shadow suddenly appeared around the corner of the house and the animal danced aside in affright. Before the jester could quiet and mount the nag, the shadow resolved itself into a man, and, behind him, came a numerous band, the play of light on helmet, sword and dagger revealing them as a party of troopers. Doubtless having indulged freely, they had become inclined to new adventures, and accordingly had bent their footsteps toward the "little house on the verge of the wood," where merry company was always to be found. At the sight of the duke's fool and the horse they pressed forward, and, with one accord, surrounded him.
"The Franciscan monk!" cried one.
"Where is he going so late with the nag?" asked another.
"He's off to confess some one," exclaimed a third.
"A petticoat, most likely, the rogue!" rejoined the second speaker.
"Well, what have we to do with his love affairs?" laughed the first trooper. "Ride on, good father, and keep tryst."
"Yes, ride on!" the others called out.
The monk bowed. An interruption which had promised to defeat his designs seemed drawing to a harmless conclusion. His hopes ran high; the soldiers had not yet penetrated beneath the costume; he had already determined to leap upon the horse in a rush for freedom when a heavy, detaining hand was laid on his shoulder.
"One moment, knave!" said a deep voice, and, wheeling sharply, the fool looked into the keen, ferret eyes of the trooper with the red mustaches. "I have a question to ask. Have you done that which you were to do?"
The friar nodded his assent. "The fool will trouble the duke no more," he answered.